


NIGHT TERRORS.

by ltab



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, discussion of mental health and references to non-graphic self harm ie starvation/sleep deprivation, heavily implied chuckboose, non-binary church
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22491595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ltab/pseuds/ltab
Summary: Tucker thinks he's too old for this, too old and too war-torn to be crawling into someone else's bed afraid in the middle of the night. He can't be a leader likethis.Caboose thinkshe'stoo weak for this. However physically large he may be, the grief dwarfs him into curling in on himself at night and accepting, denying, remembering— wishing he could forget.Tucker's north pole pulls to Caboose's south. Not even a planet could keep them apart at this point. Everything changes around them except for one another.They understand each other's nightmares better than anyone else ever could.
Relationships: Dexter Grif & Lavernius Tucker, Franklin Delano Donut & Lavernius Tucker, Lavernius Tucker & Agent Washington, Leonard L. Church/Lavernius Tucker, Michael J. Caboose/Lavernius Tucker, Michael J. Caboose/Leonard L. Church, Michael J. Caboose/Leonard L. Church/Lavernius Tucker
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	1. WAKE UP CALL

The world has shifted under Tucker's feet and he swears the ground is trying to swallow him whole.

This earthquake has rattled him to his core. What foundations he's built over the years crumble into fine powder at his feet, and he finds he's shaking with the walls built around him.

Iris is a desolate moon that the Reds and Blues painted a rainbow. It's been only a couple weeks since they arrived here, but the Reds have already fallen back into their swing of amusing antics, tugging at the Blues to join them. But with what energy? After what they've lost, how could they ever recuperate as fast as Red Team did?

Church was something of a fragile twine bonding Blue Team (and Carolina) to one another. Caboose and Tucker their best friends, Washington their entrusted confidant, Carolina their sibling through and through. Just when they were finally getting close, feeling like a _team_ , the twine pulled too tight, too taut— snapped with Church's death on the Staff of Charon and sent the Blues bursting apart like a supernova: directionless.

Carolina blames them. She won't admit it, but she blames them— blames _him_ , blames _Tucker_. They haven't talked in any way aside from professionally, out of necessity, since the war ended on Chorus. She won't say it, but she blames Tucker's ego, his weakness, his incapabilities and everything that makes Tucker despise himself.

It's fair, Tucker thinks, because Tucker blames himself. He blames himself for the same reasons Carolina blames him— for his ego, his weakness, his incapabilities. Church is gone because Tucker didn't lead properly; that's all Carolina and Tucker can agree on right now.

And it's tearing Tucker apart. Carolina's accusation is unspoken and is built in grief and anger and Tucker knows that, knows it will be resolved with time, after Carolina is able to mourn. _Tucker's_ accusation is built on a sort of love, because he _loved_ Church. As… as whatever Church was to him. He loved Church enough to believe that he could've saved Church if he had done his job better.

Tucker doesn't like that this is where he is tonight, at one in the morning; shaking in bed, the sun still far from rising but the realization dawning on him all the same.

Blue base has always felt empty compared to Red base, even with Carolina occupying a room since Red base is full to its brim. But tonight it's empty _and_ cold, and Tucker feels that creeping fear of being alone and abandoned wrapping its greedy tendrils around his spine, and he's so overwhelmed, so _tired_. So tired of wanting things to be familiar again.

Staring blankly at the ceiling above, he tries to urge away the feeling of desolation, this sudden self-doubt and hatred, because none of that should be associated with Lavernius _fucking_ Tucker. He needs to clear his head— a walk, that's what he needs. Time away from this stuffy, confining room.

His body seems to move on its own. Sitting up, grabbing a shirt and some sweats to pull over his briefs, kicking his blankets away, walking to the door, out the door. He lets his legs carry him down the hall, to the stairs— not sure where he's headed but basking in the blood circulation that standing up brings, that feeds fresh oxygen and sense into his brain and pushes the dull aches out.

When he stops, he's in front of a different bedroom door.

Why the hell did he bring himself here?

Tucker realizes quickly that he yearns familiarity. Something he can call home, here on Iris, with Church missing and his kid planets away and everyone else he loves, truly _loves_ , gone, out of his reach.

 _Not everyone_ , he scoffs at himself, hand pressed apprehensively against the metal of Caboose's bedroom door.

The churning in his stomach has grown into a desperation to be anything but alone tonight. That'd be what lead him here. He can't be in the silence of his room, not with realities weighing in as heavy as they are, but where else would he go? Carolina is out of the question, and Wash wouldn't let him sleep until he knew all the details about what was wrong if he saw Tucker like this.

Further, Tucker doesn't _want_ to talk about it. He just wants company, comfort— he just wants to _sleep_.

He knocks, wondering idly what he's going to do if Caboose is asleep already. Which he, ideally, _is_ , really, and Tucker feels selfish for hoping he might still be up. In the event that Caboose is out like a light, Tucker would need to find something else to do, somewhere else to be, but he knows that he wouldn't get any sleep tonight regardless.

He finds himself embarrassingly relieved when the keypad next to the door flicks from red to green, indicating that it's been unlocked, and the electromagnetic lock slides open with a soft hiss.

And there's Caboose, towering nine clean inches above Tucker as is usual, blinking his confusion before his brows dip in concern. “Tucker?”

“Uh, hey,” Tucker begins, hesitating. He doesn't know what to say, because he doesn't know exactly what he wants, here. Would Caboose find it weird if he asked to just hang out for a bit? “I, um—”

“Do you wanna come in?” Caboose asks, softly enough that Tucker knows something has tipped him off into knowing that Tucker isn't okay. He's not sure whether he should be grateful or self conscious about that, but nods nonetheless.

Caboose silently steps to the side to allow Tucker entrance to his room, closing and locking the door behind him as Tucker moves to sit on his bed in the far corner of the room.

Caboose's room is… nice, really. Typical, lacking in decoration and personal touch, which isn't much of a surprise, because none of the Reds and Blues have ever really hauled any personal possessions around since Valhalla.

Alongside a desk littered with machine parts, the room houses a single column bookshelf turned on its side in a corner that brags thick volumes of books that Tucker can barely comprehend, titles related to engineering, computer coding, medical conditions, and psychology. His portable computer rests on the bookshelf, propped open to some news site called _Interstellar Daily_. Next to the shelf sits a pair of bean bag chairs.

At the foot of Caboose's bed is a trunk that holds his clothes and armor, while the recently downsized Freckles sits folded in a dog bed in the corner across from it, currently shut down in some sort of robot equivalent of sleeping. In all, it's a lot nicer than Tucker's near-empty room. It screams _Caboose_ in every way, and that, in itself, is homely to Tucker.

Caboose joins him with some apprehension in his movements, picking his datapad off of the bed, shutting it off and setting it down on his bedside table before he sits at the foot of the bed. Tucker draws his knees up to his chest; Caboose turns his body so he's facing Tucker, one leg tucked under him and the other still hanging off the bed.

“You're shaking,” said gently, but with glaring concern.

So he is. Tucker hates that it's bad enough that Caboose can _see_ it. He forces a weak laugh, but they both know nothing is funny about this, and Caboose's frown deepens. “Kinda, I guess, yeah.”

“Do you wanna… talk about it?”

It's a carefully phrased question for a reason, Tucker can tell. Caboose is giving him an _out_ , letting him turn the offer down. It's considerate of him, archetypal, shows just how much Caboose cares and is willing to listen. Like that, Tucker's almost convinced that Caboose might just reverse psychology him into talking.

But if it _is_ such a bait, Tucker doesn't take it. “Not, uh… not really. I— I just didn't want to…”

 _Be alone_ , he plans to say, but it dies on his tongue. There's an awkward passing second where Tucker averts his gaze from Caboose down to the floor. He doesn't know where to go from here and thinks _Man, I should've thought this through_.

Before he can scramble to fill in the gap in the conversation, Caboose suddenly leans forward, reaching past Tucker to grab his datapad off his side table. “Do you wanna see what I've been working on, then?”

No pushing Tucker to talk, no further addressing of his current state, just an offer to fill the silence; Caboose is benevolent and Tucker's unsure if he's ever done anything to deserve benevolence. “Yeah, show me.”

“Here,” Caboose turns the device back on, flicking through a couple files before he holds it out to Tucker. “They're, um… letters. For all my sisters. But I have a lot of sisters. So it's taking a little while to finish them.”

Open on the datapad is a folder of files, and a good bunch of them. They're titled with names, which Tucker can only assume belong to Caboose's sisters’, and judging from the file information, he started the first one a month ago. Before they'd left Chorus.

“You've been working on these for awhile,” he says quietly, scrolling down the list but not opening any of the files. “You have… seventeen sisters? Right?”

“Yep. I'm only on… eleven, I think. I'm the oldest and the only boy.”

It's easy to tell that these letters must be personal, especially if each sister is getting one of their own. Considering Caboose gave him the datapad, he's likely okay with Tucker reading them, but it feels far too private, so he hands the pad back to Caboose.

“What are they like?”

“My— my sisters?” Caboose asks, and Tucker nods. Caboose's nose wrinkles in thought before the expression changes to something more fond.

“A lot,” he hums, and Tucker is confused, but he knows better than to interrupt Caboose's train of thought. “They're a lot of things. Some of them went to the UNSC like me. My littlest sister wanted to be a physicist, and she was really smart.

“There are so many of us, so we all liked different things. Really noisy house. My mom got very tired of us sometimes.” Caboose snickers softly. “Ah, yeah. We all wanted to be different things when we grew up. One of them is a chef, and a couple of the other girls are artists in different… ah… fields? Animation and things like that.”

Tucker puffs his cheeks out momentarily, taking it in. “What was it like being the oldest? And the only boy?”

A harder question, because Caboose is quieter longer. “Fun. I love them all very much. I think they all… admire me? Look up to me, because I'm the oldest. And because I left when lots of them were still little.”

“Were you always planning to enlist?”

“No,” and a shake of his head, “nah, nope. I never wanted… never wanted to leave my family, actually. I, ah… it's embarrassing. I was applying for… a lot of schools at the same time and got my papers mixed up. Yeah, I— I filled out a UNSC application by accident.

“I was… going to go to Harvard before that? Or something I could pay for, but I _did_ get a small scholarship there.” And though Tucker is marveling at this fact he never knew about Caboose, there's not a single hint of pride in Caboose's voice— it's either modesty or embarrassment from sharing the story that's stopping that.

“But… yeah. I was going to finish school and do something that let me stay near my family. Then I got the letter that I was going to the military, and thought… it might be neat to go to space, anyway. Even if it was because I was fighting aliens.”

“Then you got sent to Blood Gulch instead,” Tucker says before he can stop himself.

Caboose grins somewhat melancholically. “Yes, but that was _not_ a bad thing. I— I mean, I met you! And everyone else here, and— you know. I would probably not have had as much fun if I was in space fighting aliens like normal.”

Tucker swallows thickly. “Right.”

“Really, I'm— they probably would have sent me home after the war ended, anyway. I still did get to adventure, and I still talk to my family, so it's not— Tucker?”

Tucker is crying.

Furthermore, he's crying _uncontrollably_. Which doesn't necessarily mean loudly, or messily, or grossly. When the tears stop _threatening_ to spill and start _spilling_ , he's already pulled the collar of his shirt up to his eyes because doesn't want Caboose to see him like this. Doesn't want Caboose to know that when he cries, he _cries_ , and it's ugly to see because he can't _stop_.

It's a little silly— and rude— of him, he thinks, to start crying in the middle of Caboose's storytelling. Both because this was supposed to be a chance for _Caboose_ to talk and because it was the mention of Blood Gulch that set him off.

He's doing it again and he knows it. Keeping his emotions pent up, running away from his own problems. He recalls Grey saying that it was his hypermasculinity, his dysphoria, his vanity that caused it, but he doesn't know what he's supposed to _do_ about it. Tonight is the corkscrew opening up the fine wine of feelings that he's had bottled up for God knows how long.

It's suffocating. He isn't sure exactly what _it_ is, but whatever it is makes him feel like he's drowning, so far in over his head that there's no hope for escape. From Church fucking _dying_ to Carolina blaming him to him blaming himself to him not being _okay_ , it's all more than he can chew and he wishes he could just spit it out already.

And he doesn't mean to cry about it, really, he doesn't. He's twenty nine and old enough to know that crying is something babies do. He's a captain and has taken charge enough times to know he's going to suffer losses again, and again, and again, and _again_. He knows better than to let it overwhelm him, but it does, and it does so mercilessly.

If he conditions himself to believe that people will always be there to pick up the pieces when he's torn apart, then what will he do when he's finally _alone_?

What's worse is the way his tongue gets heavy when he's like this. He wants to apologize to Caboose for the interruption, for how abrupt it is, but he can't when he's sniffling too much to speak—

“Tucker.”

Suddenly there are arms around him. The position is somewhat awkward but Caboose doesn't falter. Tucker wonders for a second if he should be fighting this, but he doesn't _want_ to, because Caboose is warm and comforting and Tucker can feel it anchoring him back into reality.

And Caboose doesn't ask, but Tucker finds himself answering anyway. “I— I don't know what the fuck I'm _doing_ anymore, Caboose, Carolina's pissed at me, _I'm_ pissed at me, I don't get any sleep at night anymore, the only structure I feel like I have anymore is _you_ , and—”

“Tucker,” Caboose says, voice muffled above Tucker's head, “stop _talking_.”

So he stops.

They sit like that awhile longer, and at some point Tucker lets his arms wind around Caboose's neck and lets himself cry into Caboose's shoulder. If he's going to let himself have this, just this once, he might as well take what he's given. They don't talk again until Tucker finishes crying.

“I miss Church,” Tucker mumbles weakly against Caboose's shirt, and he knows Caboose isn't ready to breach the topic yet, but he can't skirt around admitting it any longer.

Caboose's hold on him tightens only for a second, then Caboose exhales heavily. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Please don't kick me out of your room for crying on you,” Tucker says, hoping Caboose will let him joke despite all this, but Caboose only hums.

“I won't.”

Tucker notes the change in tone, but makes no comment on it. He untangles himself from Caboose awkwardly. “Thanks, Caboose. Sorry.”

“I think you should sleep,” Caboose nods at his pillows, “If you're okay with, um… sharing a bed, I mean.”

“Yeah,” because he's known Caboose for, what, six, seven years, now? Caboose is probably the closest friend he has here, he couldn't care less about sharing a bed with him. “That's fine.”

The exhaustion from crying and lack of sleep is getting to him, and he scoots back against Caboose's headboard while Caboose stands, probably to go change his shirt. He gives Tucker a small smile.

“Things will— things will be okay, you know.”

Tucker nods absently. He so badly wishes he could bring himself to agree, to at least give Caboose the benefit of the doubt.

For now, though, it's easier to just smile back than it is to lie.


	2. BROAD DAYLIGHT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to argue when Caboose is being so insistent, because Caboose is headstrong and stubborn when he wants to be. Tucker wants to turn down the offer, regardless of the fact that being with Caboose last night _did_ make everything a lot easier to bear, but…
> 
> Caboose would never let him get away with trying to do this on his own.

In the morning, Tucker finds he's still in Caboose's bed.

Which, no, isn't a surprise in itself, because he remembers all too well what happened last night, but he's surprised he didn't wake up in the middle of the night and go back to his own room out of humiliation.

He sits up to stretch and rub sleep out of tired eyes. He'll have to go back to his room, anyway, because he didn't bring his binder with him, but for now he can give himself a moment to fully wake up while Caboose is asleep.

The sun casts light through the edges of the curtain pulled over Caboose's bay window, giving no indication of the time of day but filling the dimmed room with some slivers of natural lighting. It's an ambiance that Tucker's room doesn't have.

Caboose snorts in his sleep next to Tucker, drawing the latter's attention to him. He has one arm over his eyes and the other across his stomach, blanket pulled up just over his hips. His curly hair is tousled and frizzy from sleep, strands crossing over his face and at risk of getting in his slightly open mouth.

He sleeps shirtless, which Tucker never would have figured out until last night, scars across his chest leaving Tucker equal parts jealous and in admiration before he realizes staring at Caboose's chest is weird. Staring at him at _all_ is weird, actually, so he stops and opts to, instead, stand and draw Caboose's curtains back before he leaves.

Once he gets his binder on and freshens up in the bathroom, he heads downstairs, keeping as quiet as possible in his descent despite having learned that it was already eleven in the morning and that everyone else in the building is likely awake already. He knows both Wash and Carolina get up early to train, still. He guesses old habits die hard.

Washington is in the kitchen when he enters, nursing his usual cup of coffee and leaning against the counter. Must've finished training a while ago. A brow rises on his forehead. “Morning, Tucker.”

“Hey,” Tucker greets back, heading for the fridge. Mostly so he doesn't have to look at Wash; his eyes still feel puffy from last night and the guy reads him like a chapter book.

“Sleep well last night?”

Tucker almost laughs. “Well enough, yeah. Still kinda tired.”

“Up late, I'm guessing?”

“Yep,” Tucker answers, popping the _p_. Washington's constant questioning shouldn't surprise him at this point, and it doesn't, but it sure is annoying, still. “Got caught up with trying to figure out how to celebrate Junior's birthday. He's turning four soon.”

He hates how easily the lie rolls off his tongue. Wash doesn't suspect a thing, if his chuckle is any hint. “Your son, right? Who's taller than you by a foot?”

“The one and only. Best Tucker you'll find out there.”

The only other Tucker aside from himself you'll find anywhere anymore, really, but that's not important. “Gotta introduce me to this kid someday, bud. He sounds great.”

“Say hi next time I call him,” Tucker offers, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge. He closes the door carefully. “He'd be excited to know he has—”

He stops because Carolina is suddenly passing through the kitchen, between him and Wash. She doesn't look at either of them as she goes, just walks to a cupboard, opens it to pull something out, then closes it again, leaving silently and unperturbed.

Tucker exhales. “… has such a badass uncle.”

“You guys can't keep this up, you know,” Wash says disapprovingly, and Tucker can't even attempt to feign ignorance about what Wash means. He leans heavily against the refrigerator.

“Not like I can do anything about it, man,” and he really does try not to sound snappy, but last night's crying episode left all the bitter emotions stewing in his chest. “ _She's_ mad at _me_ and _I_ don't know what I'm supposed to say to _fix_ it.”

The bleached blond curls atop Wash's head bounce when he shakes head. “ _Neither_ of you are trying hard enough. You both just need time for yourselves, but you can _have_ that without resenting each other for it.”

Can he? Tucker wants to challenge that, but he knows Wash is probably right and it's only the frustration that's making him want to question what Wash is saying. But…

“I don't _resent_ Carolina,” Tucker huffs, folding his arms across his chest and looking at the stovetop next to Wash. “She's my— my teammate. _Friend,_ even. I just doubt that she _wants_ to be right now.”

Wash pushes himself off the counter, moving to put his mug in the sink. “Small conversations are a good place to start. If Carolina won't listen to you, I will, and I'll talk to her for you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Tucker waves a hand. He'd really rather not talk about this right now. “Sure thing, Wash.”

“I'm serious, Tucker.”

“ _Sure thing, Wash_.”

Wash knows better than to push it, so he backs off, throwing his hands up in surrender. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

Though conversation with Wash is usually appreciated and helpful, Tucker feels the air clear a bit when he leaves the kitchen. Now alone, he clutches the water bottle in his hands and sighs before twisting it open.

It feels unfair that the blame is being placed on him for this, even if it's just partial blame. He admittedly doesn't have anything against Carolina herself, even if _she_ does against _Tucker_ , so why would Wash assume he does? He doesn't _want_ Carolina to be mad at him, but what is he supposed to do about it?

 _Damn it, Church_ , he thinks bitterly. If Church hadn't gone and pulled a hero move like they did, Tucker wouldn't be in this predicament at _all_.

The thought startles Tucker so badly that he freezes. Why is he blaming Church? If Church hadn't pulled that move, Tucker wouldn't be dealing with this because he would've been _dead_. It's wildly wrong to pin this on them and Tucker feels annoyed with himself for even trying. He forces the bitter emotions to the back of his mind and takes a sip of his water.

Before he can get too tangled in his own thoughts, he's pulled out of them by someone entering the kitchen, yawning. “H'llo.”

Caboose looks a little disheveled, hair tied up in a messy ponytail at the top of his neck, tank top wrinkled where it falls over his boxers. Tucker offers a wave and watches Caboose cross the room to reach for the bottle of pills that they keep on the counter.

“Eat something first, ‘boose,” Tucker nods toward the fridge, grinning a bit when Caboose wrinkles his nose in response. “You almost forgot to yesterday.”

Caboose shrugs, walking towards the fridge with his medication in one hand. “I _always_ almost forget. That's why you're supposed to remind me.”

“Guess that's true.”

“Yup,” Caboose grabs an apple from the crisper drawer and a water bottle in one hand, closing the fridge with his shoulder. He wanders over to stand next to Tucker, placing his Adderall and water on the counter. “How are you feeling?”

It's almost disappointing to hear that, because Tucker thought he might be able to get out of discussing what happened last night somehow. But Caboose cares too much to let him ignore it. “I'm… better. Y'know. Still feel like shit, but not as bad as I felt last night.”

“That's good.” Caboose bites into his apple, chews, swallows, then continues, “Is this the first time that's happened?”

“What? Me going to your room in the middle of the night?”

Caboose shakes his head. “The, ah, the panic attack. Everything leading up to you coming to my room, I guess. I haven't ever seen you like that before.”

Tucker flinches. God, this is embarrassing. “Uh, yeah. First time that's ever happened to me. Was weird.”

“Hm,” Caboose leans back against the counter, biting his apple and chewing thoughtfully. He swallows. “You— you don't need to lie to me, you know.”

Damn. Over the years of their friendship, it's no big surprise that Caboose has learned how to read Tucker from his body language, his tone of voice. Caboose is smart— smarter than anyone on Blue team, probably— so of course he can figure out when someone is lying to his face.

Still, Tucker is appreciative. If this were _Wash_ trying to get him to open up, the ex-Freelancer would be much, _much_ stricter about how unhealthy bottling things up is, much less gentle if he was as aware as Caboose is of how bad everything is affecting Tucker. Caboose knows what Tucker wants, what he _needs_ , and it's so much easier to talk when Tucker has that in his corner.

“Ugh, okay, no. Not the first time,” Tucker shrugs, taking another sip of water. “It's not like it gets that bad a _fuckton_ , but… like, once a week, I guess. Otherwise it's just kinda… uncomfortable and shitty.”

“But it still sucks, even if it's not that bad?”

“… Yeah. Been hard to sleep. Last night was probably the best I've had it in awhile.”

Caboose hums again, eyes on the fridge across from them, cogs in his brain turning. He takes a second to process, then says, “Good that I could help. But, um… if you ever can't sleep again, you can just come to my room if it helps.”

“Huh?” Tucker blinks, then looks over at Caboose incredulously. “Dude, you do _not_ want me coming over to your room every night to cry on you. I'm not gonna keep you up like that.”

With a wave of his hand, Caboose says, “No, I'm serious. _Please_ do it, actually, if you feel bad. I can tell you have not been sleeping recently and I want to help because you're my friend. And I've been staying up late, anyway, so it doesn't matter.”

It's hard to argue when Caboose is being so insistent, because Caboose is headstrong and stubborn when he wants to be. Tucker wants to turn down the offer, regardless of the fact that being with Caboose last night _did_ make everything a lot easier to bear, but…

Caboose would never let him get away with trying to do this on his own.

“Yeah, man,” Tucker mumbles, bringing his bottle to his lips again. “I'll keep it in mind.”

Caboose smiles at him warmly, and Tucker almost regrets that he's never actually going to take up the offer.

—

For a week, Tucker manages.

Tucker knows he's shit at lying about most things, but when it comes to feelings, he's never been more convincing. He's got the method down to a tee— say he's fine, tell some stupid joke, snark whoever is asking, roll his eyes a bit. Leave if it doesn't work.

And it works… mostly. Grif doesn't care enough to push it, Donut falls for things easily, Simmons is too awkward to say anything. Carolina still isn't talking to him. Caboose… well, he doesn't really know how or if it's working on Caboose.

The foil in his plan is, as per usual, Wash, who's too smart and too much of an older brother figure to let him be. The problem with Wash is he pushes too _far_ — as helpful as his advice is, he acts like Tucker will never get better without his intervention, and it pisses Tucker off a bit.

“I'm not some helpless baby, dude,” Tucker had told him at his pique a few days ago. “Just because I'm sad now doesn't mean I'm _always_ gonna be sad.”

Wash had frowned widely, arms folded across his chest. “That's the problem, though. You're sad _now_ and you're trying to _hide_ it.”

Tucker wishes it was as easy to ignore Wash as it is to ignore Carolina. Sometimes the guy gets on his nerves, as much as Tucker hates to admit it. All Wash does is tell him he's being stubborn and inadvertently hurting himself. He might be right, but Tucker's tired of hearing it.

“You think anyone here knows how to play drums?”

Snapped out of his thoughts by a particular Grif, Tucker is pulled back into the present, where he and Grif are currently lounging in the grass outside their bases. Grif's bored, something about Simmons being busy helping Sarge and Donut kicking him out while he was baking something. Tucker's bored, Caboose is holed up in his room and Wash is cleaning the base with Carolina. So Grif's his only option right now and vice versa.

Tucker squints up at the sky. “No clue, man. Why're you asking?”

“Simmons said something about liking guitar players, got me thinking about fucking around and starting a band for fun.” Grif stretches his arms before folding them under his head. “I used to play guitar. Haven't done it in forever, but used to play so much that it's muscle memory, anyway.”

“You're starting a band just because Simmons likes guitar players?” Tucker teases. Grif rolls his eyes, too used to the jeering to entertain it.

“You want in or not? You said you used to play bass.”

“In _high school_. For a _garage band_. Went in with no experience, came out with barely any more. I can play some shitty songs from decades ago. That's it.”

Grif snorts. “So? Fuck it. Never said this was gonna be a professional thing. Don't you just wanna do something fun? You've been all mopey lately.”

Deciding to dodge the question, Tucker closes his eyes and asks, “Where the fuck are we even gonna get instruments, dude?”

“Kimball, duh. Chorus is doing so good for itself that we can get whatever the fuck we ask for. Seriously, man, you in?”

Well, it does sound kinda fun. “Yeah, fuck it. I'm in. We still need to find someone who—”

A shadow suddenly looms over them, and Tucker opens his eyes to see the backlit face of Caboose looking down at him. He's wearing a tank top and sweats, hair tied into a loose ponytail at the back of his head. “Hello. Why are you in the grass?”

“Hey, Caboose,” Tucker and Grif say in sync, and Tucker pats the ground next to him. “Don't ask questions, man, just lie down with us.”

“Will you tell me why you're in the grass?”

“Yeah. C'mon.”

Caboose hums affirmatively, sitting down next to Tucker and reclining until he's laying down. He folds his hands on his chest and turns to the other two, loose strands of hair falling over his face. “Okay.”

“We were just talking. Grif wants to start a band, but we still need more than a guitar player and a bass player. Grif's just doing it to impress Simmons.”

“He's full of shit, Caboose, don't listen to him.”

“About what? You wanting to start a band or you doing it to impress Simmons?”

“The Simmons thing, _obviously_.”

“Oh, I wasn't sure,” Caboose grins, and Grif groans in annoyance while Tucker laughs. “That sounds fun. I can play drums, if you need someone to be a drummer for you.”

Tucker turns to cock a brow at the other Blue, but Grif just laughs. “Why am I not surprised? Of course you can play drums. If you're down, I don't see why not. We just need a singer.”

“The hell are we gonna get a singer?”

Grif shrugs again. “No fuckin’ clue, man. I can barely stand any of your guys's talking voices, I'd rather die before hearing you try to—”

“Grif!”

Grif's head turns toward the direction of the voice immediately, sitting up. Simmons stands near Red Base's garage door, waving an arm. “We need help! Hurry up!”

“Damn it,” Grif sighs, pulling himself to his feet. He looks down at the two Blues in the grass. “Well, we can try to start that shit up when we find a singer. I'll convince Wash to call in to Kimball and ask for some instruments. Shit'll be fun, but we can talk about it more after Sarge is done forcing me to stick my hand up exhaust pipes.”

Tucker snorts, smiling up at his friend. “Good luck, man. See you later?”

“Yeah, yeah. Later. Bye, Caboose.”

“Bye, Grif!”

The two settle into silence as Grif disappears towards Red Base. Caboose starts humming a few seconds afterwards, holding a hand up to the sky. “A band, huh?”

“A shitty one, yeah.” Tucker folds one arm under his head, using the other to mimic Caboose, fingers framing the distant shape of Chorus. “Guess it's a cool idea. Grif seems super into it.”

“Are _you_ excited for it?”

There's something to his tone of voice that tells Tucker that he's wondering more than he's saying— he wants to know if it's making Tucker feel better, wants to know if he's doing this for fun or as a distraction for something else.

Tucker pauses, staring at his hand, before dropping his arm altogether to rub at his face. So the façade _hasn't_ been working on Caboose. Of course. “I don't know, dude, Grif offered the idea so I said sure. If it winds up being fun, cool, but I'm not expecting much from it.”

For a moment, Caboose is quiet, and Tucker figures he's processing. Then he rolls into his stomach, leaning up on his forearms to look down at Tucker. His voice is soft when he speaks. “You aren't okay.”

It hurts to hear Caboose say that, for some reason. He's heard it endlessly from Wash in the past week, but there's something about Caboose's eyes, the crease in his brow, the hesitance in his voice. Tucker looks at him and gets so overwhelmed with a wave of grief that he has to look away.

“I don't wanna talk about this, Caboose,” he admits weakly, staring at Chorus in the distance. “I— I can't, man, I'm… sorry. I'm gonna feel worse if we talk about it.”

Caboose nudges Tucker's side with his elbow, urging Tucker to turn to him. “You're just going to keep _getting_ worse if you do this alone, you know.”

 _This fucking sucks_ , Tucker decides, feeling his throat tighten. His best friend— who's still mourning for the same reason _he_ is— is _desperately_ trying to help him feel better, and all Tucker can do is bitch about it, push Caboose away.

It's just so fucking _hard_ , this cycle of feeling like shit to the point where the energy is drained out of him, then feeling like shit for _having_ no energy, then letting it happen again and again and again. Tucker wishes he could hide in bed and just wake up once this is all over.

He doesn't reply to Caboose, turning away again. Caboose is quiet before Tucker hears him shift, lying back down on the grass. Tucker inhales deeply. “You really don't have to give this much of a shit about me, Caboose. I'll be fine one way or another.”

“I _want_ to be here for you. I care about you, Tucker, just— just because you want me to stop doesn't mean I'll stop.”

“I know,” Tucker mumbles, shutting his eyes and moving to dig the heels of his palms into them. “I _know_.”

They lapse into silence, and Tucker doesn't know how long they stay that way before Caboose gets up with a heavy sigh, prompting Tucker to look at him. Caboose, basked in the orange glow of the sunset, stands overhead, gives him a small smile, offering his hand for Tucker to take.

He takes it. Caboose steadies him once he's on his feet, and they head back to base side-by-side.

Always the same fucking shit, day in, day out.


	3. THE MOON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But, in avoiding his closest friend on the team, whom he spends the vast majority of his time with, Tucker's essentially reduced his pool of people to hang out with down to everyone on Red Team and Wash.
> 
> In other words: he only really hangs out with Wash and Grif.

A week after his talk with Caboose, Tucker realizes he's started avoiding Caboose, too.

Not _ignoring_. There's a difference. Carolina is the one he's ignoring— ignoring her presence in rooms and never sparing her so much as a glance. He still talks to and acknowledges Caboose, but he's always out of the room before the topic goes south of where Tucker wants it.

Caboose notices. Caboose _definitely_ notices and he doesn't have to say anything in order for Tucker to know it. Tucker can tell from the lingering glances and the apprehension in his behavior, but it's weird to see, not Caboose-like of him at all.

But, in avoiding his closest friend on the team, whom he spends the vast majority of his time with, Tucker's essentially reduced his pool of people to hang out with down to everyone on Red Team and Wash.

In other words: he only really hangs out with Wash and Grif.

It's not that he dislikes the rest of the Reds— he and Donut are actually pretty close, Simmons is a good friend, too, Sarge may hate Blues but he's just getting to that stage in his life, and Lopez is cool no matter how much he hates the rest of them— but he and Grif have gotten especially close since their promotions on Chorus.

Wash, on the other hand, is _another_ story. Tucker is _this_ close to saying fuck it and ignoring Wash too, because every time Tucker gets near him he insists on getting down to business— “business” being his concern that Tucker's mental health is rapidly declining.

So, at the end of the day, it's mostly Grif he hangs out with, when Grif's not busy with Simmons. Or if Simmons is in the mood to deal with both Grif and Tucker at the same time.

The thing is, Grif is smart. He went to Harvard before enlisting, for Christ's sake— getting _in_ is hard enough. He's smart enough to figure things out with little to nothing to go off of, but it's always just a matter of how much he _cares_.

“So, Caboose told me that he thinks you're mad at him,” Grif says one day, while they're lounging in Red Base's living room, playing Mario Kart. “Any reason why he thinks that?”

“Aw, not you, too,” Tucker groans, and he means it as a joke, but Grif just cocks a brow.

“Seriously, man, it's not any of our faults that you've been acting weird. And if no one will be real with you about it, I'll do it in a mean way. Why're you mad at Caboose?”

“I ain't… _mad_ at him,” laying back against the couch and throwing his controller down, Tucker averts his gaze to the ceiling. “I never get mad at him anymore. I just don't wanna talk to him.”

“Why not?”

Well, Tucker figures that if he's gonna talk to anyone about this, Grif's his best bet. Grif doesn't like getting involved in any drama that doesn't affect him, so he's the most likely to let Tucker be.

“He thinks I'm in a bad way or something. Don't know why—” which is a lie, of course he knows why Caboose is worried, “— but I already deal with that shit from Wash _all_ the fuckin’ time. Caboose was my ticket out of that and now he's starting it up, too. So, fuck me, I guess.”

Grif exits the match to the main menu, scrolling through maps as he hums in thought. “I mean, dude, why don't you talk to him about it if it's bothering you so much? He won't stop if he doesn't know, and you're _probably_ making it worse if you refuse to talk to him because of it.”

“I know, I know, God. I just… don't know how to bring it up. Don't wanna sound pathetic or anything, y'know?” Tucker laughs, but when Grif looks at him, he doesn't look as amused.

Grif shakes his head, choosing a map and setting up his kart. “Caboose wouldn't ever think you're pathetic for asking for help, man.”

The words settle uncomfortably in his head, stuck between wanting to be taken into consideration and wanting to fly out his other ear. He hates that Grif is implying he needs help, too, but he's too tired of being pissed to be… _pissed_ about it.

He huffs and picks up his controller again. “C'mon, last round before I gotta go back to base.”

Grif doesn't argue. At least _someone_ around here drops this kind of shit easily.

—

It gets worse with time.

Like when you don't deal with a cold or a cut immediately. It gets worse over time and Tucker can tell it's reaching its peak when he's metaphorically bleeding out beyond the point that bandaging would help.

As in, Wash has noticed him ignoring Caboose, and, yes, he's full on _ignoring_ Caboose, now.

“Tucker, you're _isolating yourself_ ,” Wash had said one morning, withholding Tucker from his daily cup of morning coffee to scold him. “You're running away from your problems and locking yourself up because you're afraid of the outcome. You're scared of how people will see you because you think we're going to hate you like you hate yourself. _Talk to us_.”

“I don't hate myself, jackass,” Tucker had spat, pushing past Wash and trying to quell the stinging behind his eyes, “I hate all of _you_ for not leaving me the fuck _alone_.”

He hates that he says these things. He never means it— he cares about his friends, they're all he has, all he's _ever_ had. But it's hard to handle when Wash comes so close to the truth, when Wash sees right past the walls he builds around himself every time.

This is all so repetitive. Tucker wants out of the cycle _now_ , but— where does he even _start_?

The answer to that question comes in the form of an awkward run-in. One day in Blue Base, with Tucker bored out of his mind and pacing the base aimlessly. It comes in the form of one Caboose catching him in a corner he can't get out of.

Tucker's not paying attention when it happens— he's reading some news article about Chorus on his datapad, occupied with trying to focus on the words and walk at the same time. Stupid fucking ADHD, making it so that he has to move around or he'll explode but not letting him focus on two things at once.

He walks into the living room and collides with someone. When he looks up, it's into wide brown eyes under pierced brows. For a moment, he hears his heartbeat in his ears.

“Sorry,” Caboose apologizes slowly, but he doesn't move to let Tucker by. His brows furrow, and Tucker clears his throat.

“S'okay, man. Can I pass?”

And Caboose still doesn't move. Tucker fights a sigh, taking the initiative to step around Caboose, but Caboose holds up a hand to stop him. Before Caboose says anything, Tucker knows what this is about.

“Why have you been ignoring me?”

_Question of the fuckin’ century_ , Tucker wants to snap. He wants to roll his eyes, turn and walk the other way, do anything _but_ answer, because if he answers he _knows_ he's going to cry. But Caboose is speaking so softly, his tone is so genuine, he cares more than he should, and Tucker is glued to the spot with too much on his mind and nothing on his tongue.

Caboose reaches behind his head to rub at the back of his neck. “I— I'm sorry if you needed _time_ , but, Tucker, you can talk to me. I don't— I don't like that you are just… not telling me what I'm doing wrong.”

“You're not doing _anything_ wrong, Caboose,” Tucker hears himself say. He knows then that he's already invested in this conversation that he doesn't want to have. “It's just— I j— I don't… I don't want you _worrying_ about me like you are.”

Caboose's brows draw together, and his hand ruffles his hair. Nervous tic. “I— I can't help worrying, Tucker, you— you're obviously not okay. I want to know what I can do to help. But it's hard when—”

“What if I don't _want_ your help?” Tucker intends for the question to come out more aggressively than it does, but his throat is tight. “What if I said ‘fuck off, I can handle this on my own’?”

“I would call you a liar,” Caboose says simply.

Tucker feels the way the sentence pushes him over the edge— he feels the tears beginning to sting the corner of his eyes, feels his chest constrict. But, for whatever fucking reason, his first instinct is to cover it up with the only way he knows how: aggression.

“Yeah? Well what if I said you don't know _shit_ about me, Caboose?” Tucker knows that's not true, but he wants it to help calm him down— it doesn't. He can't lie to himself about his friendship with Caboose. “What if I said you shouldn't— you shouldn't fucking spend all this energy on me?! It's obviously going to waste!”

“Tucker, you _aren't okay_ , and I _know_ you aren't!” Caboose is raising his voice too, now, less out of frustration and more out of concern. “It's _not_ a waste of my energy to— to check on you! We're a team!”

“Why does this _matter_ so fucking much to you?!”

“Because I _care about you_!” One hand flies up to his chest, motioning to himself. The sound of his bracelets rattling with the movement rings in Tucker's ears. “Whether you like it or not, I'm always _going_ to! Tucker, you haven't been eating and you've barely been sleeping! Do you think I'm just— just— going to let you go through this by yourself?!”

… He doesn't. Caboose would never let him struggle alone, and Tucker knows this. He can't trick himself into believing that Caboose will _ever_ abandon him.

In the beat of silence between words, Tucker feels the tears sliding down his face and sees them blurring his vision, but he maintains eye contact with Caboose, fighting desperately to keep up his pissed off façade.

Caboose doesn't flinch, but his voice lowers again. “Tucker, I— I— I'm not asking you to give me the _moon_. I just… I just want you to be… _okay_.”

It's hard to believe anything will be okay anymore with Church gone. Before he can say this, the front door of the base opens, and Donut peeks into the living room from the foyer. “Hey, is everything okay? We heard screaming and just wanted to check!”

“We're fine,” Tucker answers at the same time that Caboose says “Yep.” Donut furrows his brows, able to tell that everything is very obviously _not_ fine, and offers a placating smile.

“Okay. Try to keep it down, though. Sarge is taking a nap and I'd hate for him to wake up craving Blue blood because of you sillies.”

The two Blues nod their understanding, Caboose offering a wave as Donut retreats out the door. Tucker waits for the door to close fully before bringing a hand up to wipe at his eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Caboose says immediately, and it urges Tucker into crying harder. Caboose places a reassuring hand on his arm. “Tucker, it's okay. I'm not mad. I'm _not mad_.”

But Tucker's already crying too hard to acknowledge him, trying to hide it behind his arm as Caboose waits patiently for him to collect himself, and Tucker is too damn sensitive because it hurts more to know just how much Caboose _does_ care about him.

When it becomes clear that Tucker isn't going to stop crying anytime soon, Caboose hums his concern and pulls Tucker close. It's embarrassing that he's been reduced to crying in Caboose's arms twice, now, but it helps— it's familiar, somehow. It's the one staple that's stuck with him for _years_.

If Tucker's the Earth, Caboose is its moon— hovering, a fixed presence, even when out of sight. Caboose follows and provides for him and stays loyal through and through, and Tucker doesn't know if he'd be able to survive without the other Blue.

“Let's talk, okay?” Caboose says softly from above him, holding Tucker securely and ignoring the tears staining his shirt once again. Like nothing matters but helping Tucker get better. “We can talk.”

Caboose is the moon, pulling and pushing at Tucker's tides. This raging typhoon has _nothing_ on Caboose.

—

They talk, of course.

About… a lot of things, really. About Carolina, about Tucker's health, about Tucker's isolation habits, about— about everything that's immediately affecting Tucker. Everything _but_ Church, everything _but_ Caboose himself.

It makes Tucker curious, but he hates pushing topics with Caboose if Caboose won't bring them up first.

It happens one night in Tucker's room, Tucker leant against his headboard with Caboose comfortably rested against the wall the side of the bed is pushed up against. It's slow and long-winded and so, _so_ damn embarrassing, but Caboose understands everything.

Of course he does. He offers advice and comfort and Tucker lets the words sit in his skull for hours afterwards, when Caboose is long gone and Tucker's seconds away from going to bed himself.

“It might, um, be good for you to… talk to Carolina?” Caboose had suggested, shrugging his shoulders. “I know she's a little mad at you, but this won't ever end if you keep letting it… happen.”

Tucker had sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “I don't know if I _can_ talk to her, Caboose. She lost something really important to her, and to her it's my fault that happened.”

“So? You lost… we lost someone important to _us_ , too, right? And, to you, it's your fault that happened, too, right? The only thing that's different is that we were _there_ when it happened. Carolina was _not_.”

Tucker gets where Caboose is coming from, really, he does. But what is he supposed to _say_? “ _Hey, sorry the person you considered a sibling due to shared trauma is gone, I know you blame me, I blame me, too! At least we have that in common_ ”?

But, at the end of the day, Caboose is right. This will never end if neither of them make the move to end it, and if Carolina won't, then Tucker figures it's his turn to take responsibility.

He waits until they're in the same room by chance, which doesn't happen _super_ often because Tucker prefers being inside and Carolina likes the outdoors. But, it happens at one point all the same, and Tucker is forced to man up and say something to the ex-Freelancer.

From the second Carolina enters the kitchen, where Tucker had been trying to find something to make for dinner, Tucker feels his nerves trying to jump out of his skin. He lets Carolina grab something from the fridge before he turns and says, “Hey, Carolina.”

Carolina stiffens, but doesn't respond. After a second, she moves to close the refrigerator door, and Tucker tries again. “Carolina, can we talk?”

And she still doesn't respond. Tucker panics as Carolina moves to leave the room, turning to his last resort, voice unintentionally rising.

“Hey, I'm _sorry_!”

It's enough to get Carolina to stop in the doorway, and, realizing he has to act fast, Tucker launches into the mess of an apology he had scripted in his head just five minutes prior to this interaction.

“I'm sorry for… for what happened on Chorus,” he begins, then shakes his head at himself and pushes a hand through kinks of his hair. “For what happened to Church. I know you might not wanna talk about it, but I know you think it's my fault, and— fuck, I agree, but I don't want you to be pissed at me about it forever. I want you to know I'm sorry, and I wish things didn't turn out the way they did.”

There's a crinkling of plastic, indicating Carolina's tightened grip on her bottle. Tucker is relieved when she turns around, even if she looks pissed. “ _Sorry_ doesn't fix Church being _dead_.”

“I _know_ ,” Tucker tries not to wince at how direct Carolina's wording is. “Dude, I _know_ saying sorry can't bring them back, but— but I don't know what else to _say_. I hate that we've been fuckin’ ignoring each other for over a _month_ because neither of us wants to talk it out.”

Carolina stares, water bottle clutched fiercely in her hands. Tucker tries to rise to her intensity, but ultimately surrenders to let his desperation show. “I get you need time and space, man, seriously. I'll leave you alone, I just— I want this bad blood between us gone. It's— it's not _good_ for either of us.”

There's a beat.

“Church loved you,” Carolina says, voice hurt and low, and Tucker feels his heart jackhammering in his chest. “Church _loved_ you, Tucker, they loved you and Caboose so much more than anyone else, myself included. You two meant… _everything_ to them.

“I understand why. I had Church in my head long enough to figure it out. Since Blood Gulch, the three of you— you two always had their back for no other reason aside from them being your _friend_. Even if Church never showed it, they loved you two more than— more than I can comprehend.”

Carolina takes a deep breath. “I never _blamed_ you, Tucker. Church made it _crystal_ clear that they didn't have any choice to fragment to save you guys— _you and Caboose_. I _know_ it was you two they did that for. I guess— I'm jealous of that. Church was _family_ to me, and I lost them because they loved _you_ so much. I'm— I'm tired of not _having_ anyone.”

“But that ain't _true_ , dude.” Carolina's brows furrow in confusion at the statement, but Tucker continues with conviction. “You have _us_. Maybe we're not Freelancers and we sure as hell aren't Church, but every one of us has your back. You're _one of us_ , now. We're not letting you do this shit alone.”

There's a pregnant pause as the words sink in, and Tucker watches the anger melt from Carolina's features, leaving behind tired resignation. Carolina huffs out a humorless laugh, turning to look away from Tucker. “Church always told me that. Guess I should've listened.”

“You should've,” Tucker replies, offering a mollifying smile when Carolina looks back at him. “We can give you all the time and space you need, man, just— we won't abandon you. ‘s why I wanted to apologize. I get this is all shitty for you, and I'm not trying to make it worse.”

“I'm sorry, too, then,” Carolina nods, expression neutral. Still, Tucker can see the tension leave her muscles, posture slackening with relief. “If it's hard for me it must be hard for you. Sorry you thought I was blaming you this whole time. And… sorry for ignoring you in the first place.”

“Friends?” Tucker asks. Carolina eyes him, the finally cracks a small, barely-there grin.

“Friends.”

“Thank _God_ ,” Tucker exhales, running a hand through his hair. He shakes his head when Carolina cocks a brow. “You should go do whatever you were doing. I gotta make dinner.”

“Right,” Carolina agrees, but she doesn't move. She narrows her eyes at Tucker. “Hope you're taking care of yourself.”

The statement catches Tucker by surprise, and he waves a hand dismissively, forcing out a laugh. “Totally, dude, I've been— I'm cool. Thanks.”

Carolina scrutinizes him a second longer before humming in an unreadable way, then turning to leave the kitchen. Once she's gone, Tucker leans back against the counter, trying to get his heart to stop pounding and his throat to stop tightening.

Tucker doesn't think he'll ever catch a break. Ending this feud between himself and Carolina hardly feels like a victory, especially with how he's hurting _more_ after the conversation.

Church loved Tucker, they loved Caboose. More than anyone else. Church sacrificed themself for _them_ , just the two of them.

Church loved them.

Church _loved_ them.


	4. STAYING UP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's so hard to move on when you feel like you never appreciated what you had until you lost it. Seven years with Church and Tucker took it all for granted— like Church would never dare leave his side, would never _have_ to.
> 
> But they did dare, and they _had_ to, and now there's a hole in Tucker's chest that's spitting out so _much_ of him that he's struggling to staunch it all.

“ _Hey, Tucker, if you're hearing this... I didn't make it. This recording is everything I never got to tell you._ ”

Tucker hates this fucking recording.

Tucker hates this recording. He hates hearing Church's voice and he hates reveling in the echo of their laugh and he hates that he can recite it word for word because he's listened to it so many fucking _times_.

It's four in the morning and Tucker can't remember when he last slept. His eyes burn from crying and his head is throbbing from the lack of sleep and food. God, he hasn't left his room in two days, he's so fucking _pathetic_.

“ _I don't even know where to start with you, man._ ” Church laughs. Tucker wants to wrap that sound up and tuck it away, close to his heart. “ _How long has it been, huh? Six, seven years? Holy_ shit _. That's nearly a decade of me living with your bullshit._ ”

Nearly, only _nearly_. “ _So, let's get to the point, yeah? I'm gone, probably fucked off to save your sorry lives. You are, of course, oh_ so _welcome. I… honestly, I don't know how you'll take it. I hope you at least miss me a_ little _, even if I've always been an asshole._

“ _Right, so, anyway, none of that's important. Uh. I'm— I'm gonna be real, here, Tucker, there's so much shit about you I_ could _say, but I have no fuckin’ idea how to put it all into words. You were the second person I met after getting relocated to Blood Gulch, my first— my first_ friend _, y'know?_

“ _And, I mean,_ ” Church laughs again, but this one sounds humorless, quieter. “ _You mean more to me than… than just_ that _. We've been through a lot— and I mean a_ lot _— together. You, Caboose, and me. As shitty as it's all been, I don't think I'd trade that for… anything, really._ ”

It's so uncharacteristically sappy of Church to say something like that, but Tucker can't even poke fun at them for it to hide how much it means to him. “ _I know your burning question is probably something like, ‘What the fuck, asshole, why would you sacrifice yourself for us?!’ Or something. I'll tell you why._

“ _I'm an old AI, dude. I've been around for just about as long as smart AIs can survive, and if I'm gonna go down, I'd rather it not be in some freakshow rampancy where I lose my shit. I'm only a fragment, now. I can't be here forever, so I'd rather bite the bullet_ now _than later_.

“ _And… if it's for you guys— you and Caboose— it's worth it_ ,” Church pauses, clearing their throat. “ _Um, y'know. I wanna go out with a bang, and now… now's a better time than ever_.

“ _I'm recording these as you guys are setting up for the pirates to break into the room. Time's weird for me like that. And… and I'm watching you guys do this, and I'm watching_ you _, and I know you'll be alright without me. I mean, you'll always have Caboose._ ”

Church laughs, then quiets again. When they speak again, it's so softly that it barely sounds like Church at all. “ _You… you've changed a lot, Tucker. Watching it happen has been… insane. I… I'm proud of you for it, I know you'll be a great leader. I— just— keep that up, okay?_ ”

A sigh. “ _Okay, I think I'm spending too much time here babbling about you. I gotta get this done before that door opens, so I gotta move on. I… I don't know how to end this. Take care of yourself and Caboose or I'll haunt your ass, make sure Wash and Carolina take it easy. Keep track of the Reds._

“ _Don't… don't forget about me, okay? You and Caboose both. You're… you two are… you're my best friends. I never thought I'd say that, but you_ are _. I'm going to— I'm gonna miss both of you so much, fuck._ ”

Church clears their throat again, and Tucker rubs at his eyes, wiping away phantom tears. He's cried himself dry already, there's nothing there but the sensation of nonexistent tears tracking down his face. “ _So… I guess this is goodbye. Bye, Captain Lavernius Tucker, self-proclaimed ladies’ man. I— I lo— I… shit. Thank you for… for everything. Signed, your friend, Leonard L. Church._ ”

When the recording cuts off, Tucker drops his datapad on the floor next to his bed, rolling over and pulling the blankets up, over his head. He just wants to sink into these sheets and let himself melt until this all passes.

It's so hard to move on when you feel like you never appreciated what you had until you lost it. Seven years with Church and Tucker took it all for granted— like Church would never dare leave his side, would never _have_ to.

But they did dare, and they _had_ to, and now there's a hole in Tucker's chest that's spitting out so _much_ of him that he's struggling to stauch it all.

So, he gives up. He'll let himself empty out until he's nothing but skin and bones, and maybe then he'll feel like everything is okay again.

—

On the afternoon of his third day in bed without food, Washington forces open his door, sits on his bed, and places a bowl with an assortment of fruits in it next to him.

Tucker stares, too dazed to process. Wash pushes the bowl closer. “Eat.”

“Fuck off,” Tucker rasps, rolling over to face the wall, earning a sigh from Wash. He couldn't care any less about this than he already does, and he doesn't give a shit if this pisses Wash off.

“Tucker, you can't keep this up. You're gonna starve to death if you don't eat.” Wash nudges Tucker's back with his knee. “C'mon, we're all worried about you.”

As if Tucker doesn't _know_. He turns back around and sits up to glare at Wash. “Yeah, well, you shouldn't be. It's stressing y'all out more than it's stressing _me_ out. All _I_ want is for you guys to get off my _dick_ about it, okay? I don't— I can't handle this right now.”

“Tucker, I'm sorry to be frank with you, but I _know_ that's bullshit.” Wash picks up the bowl, thrusting it towards Tucker insistently. “This is as distressing for _you_ as it is for _us_. I know you're really struggling right now— hell, Carolina is, too— but Caboose and I are stressed and mourning _too_ and it's all we can do to try to help one another.”

Which feels like an accusation, and Tucker huffs and takes the bowl from Wash, feeling guilty. Wash's features grow a bit softer. “I know you don't wanna talk about it, man, and I won't make you. Just— try to take care of yourself, okay? Or at least let us help you.”

“Okay, dad,” Tucker mumbles, but Wash doesn't entertain the tease. Tucker sighs, looking down at the bowl. “It's just— I trust y'all, I just don't think anyone aside from Caboose would get it. And I'm _not_ about to start burdening you guys by making you take care of me like I'm a kid.”

Wash shakes his head. “It's not a burden to be worried about you, but I get it. You _know_ we're not gonna back off until we're sure you're watching after yourself, though; hygiene, appetite, and activity included.”

“I know,” Tucker resigns, because, really, he _knows_. He'd be doing the same thing Wash is doing to him right now if any other Blue— hell, even if a Red— was going through the same thing he's going through right now.

Wash watches as Tucker picks up a strawberry, then sighs, offering a sympathetic smile. “Take your time, just… don't shut us out. Even just talking to Caboose is better than what you're doing right now. You trust him the most, anyway, and he's really worried about you.”

“Told him he shouldn't be.”

“You know that telling him that won't stop him. He's been on edge for the past day, said something about how you guys already made up and you're already pulling away again, but he doesn't want to seem clingy or make you uncomfortable.”

Caboose could _never_ make him uncomfortable, and if Caboose is clingy, Tucker must be _obsessed_. “Shit. I'll— I'll talk to him. When I can.”

“You should aim for sometime today,” Wash shrugs. “Think it would do you a lot of good to get out of this room right now.”

Tucker doesn't respond, biting into his strawberry and looking away from Wash. Wash gets the hint, exhaling in way of a sigh and standing. “I'll leave you alone, but I'm gonna come back later to check. If that bowl is still full when I get back, I'll bring Carolina in. You _know_ she's less patient than I am.”

“Oh, God.” Tucker places the bowl in his lap to free up a hand so he can tousle his hair. He blows air through his lips, meeting Wash's eyes again. “Thanks, Wash. You've been an annoying asshole but I know you're just doing it because you care.”

Wash smiles. “Of course, Tucker. Things are hard right now, but they'll pass, whether you believe it or not.”

“You— you are just a _wealth_ of dramatic advice, dude.”

Laughing and shaking his head, Wash shrugs again. “Guess so. I'm gonna get going now, I have to help Donut with something. See you later, yeah?”

“Yeah, man,” Tucker raises his hand in a parting wave as Wash backs toward the door. “Later.”

Tucker watches warily as Wash walks out the door, waiting until it closes behind him to run a hand through his hair in frustration.

 _One fucking step forward…_ he thinks to himself, staring down into the bowl of fruit. He plucks out a blueberry, rolling it between his fingers before sighing and dropping it back in the bowl.

 _Two fucking steps_ back _._

—

He listens to Wash for once, though.

It takes a lot of drive to finish the fruit Wash gave him, and even more to even think about getting out of bed once he wakes up from the sleep he finally got. But Tucker manages, eyeing the clock and frowning at the time. One eighteen in the morning.

Deducing that no one will be awake to question him, he decides that a shower would help him feel better, not to mention he needs one, feels too grimy from being in bed for days even if he doesn't _look_ dirty physically.

It's nice, stepping under the spray of warm water and letting it rain down on him. The one downside is that being in the shower always gives him an opportunity to get caught up in his own head. When he starts thinking about Church again, he scrubs at his hair hard enough to distract himself, but it's definitely probably not any good for his hair.

By one forty, he's out of the bathroom, feeling a little refreshed but just as miserable as he had felt twenty minutes prior. He figures that beggars can't be choosers— this is probably the best he's gonna get right now, he might as well run with it.

As he exits the bathroom and crosses the hall to return to his room, he can't help but notice the dim light coming from the floor above him, cascading down the staircase. He furrows his brows and ascends the steps.

At the top of the staircase, he sees that the hallway light near Caboose's room is still on, which is no big surprise. Caboose doesn't have that great a memory, probably passed out before he turned it off. Tucker huffs fondly and heads over to the switch in order to turn the lights off, but he's given pause as he passes Caboose's bedroom door.

He can see faint light coming from under the door, where the floor changes from hardwood to carpet. This also wouldn't be that big a deal (again: Caboose is forgetful), but he can hear a lot of movement from behind the door. Rattling and clanking and soft cursing that sounds foreign in Caboose's voice.

He frowns widely and knocks on the door, rubbing at the hem of his shirt. There's more noise from inside the room, then Caboose cursing a little louder, and then footsteps, and Caboose looks frenzied when the door slides open.

Tucker looks up at him, worried. “Uh, are you—”

“Tucker!” Caboose gasps, and he runs a hand through his hair and offers a shaky grin. “Oh, my God, I am _so_ glad to see you, I— I— I was worried because you were not leaving your room and I was thinking _I don't know what to do to help him if he's having a hard time_ and I was getting pretty freaked out about you not leaving your room and not eating and, well, you know how it gets, I tried to start a project and it didn't help because I was _kinda_ scared—”

“Caboose—” Tucker's eyes widen as Caboose rambles. He sounds frantic, like he's forcing a happy tone, like he hasn't gotten to infodump all day, like he's been living off of energy drinks for a week straight. “Hey, Caboose, please— I'm happy to see you, too. Can I come in?”

Caboose nods enthusiastically, stepping to the side. As the light shifts on his features with the movement, Tucker notes the bags under his eyes. “Yes! Come in. You can sit wherever.”

Stepping past Caboose, Tucker first notices that his room is a mess compared to how he usually keeps it. Not that that says much, because Caboose is generally a very organized person, and you wouldn't even be able to tell there's a mess if you didn't know Caboose.

But Tucker spots one of his engineering books open, face-down on the ground and halfway under his desk, and one of his psychology books open on a beanbag chair, littered with notes written in Caboose's messy handwriting, and he can't help but feel a bit panicked about Caboose's wellbeing.

He sits on the bed, scooting back until he can lean against the wall, and waits for Caboose to join him. Only, Caboose _doesn't_ do that— once he's gotten his door locked again, he moves to pace next to his bed, not looking at Tucker but talking rapidly.

“Sorry it's a little messy, I was very busy with a lot of things so I couldn't put anything away while I was using them. Wash helped me put stuff away earlier but I just made a mess again. It is just hard to clean when I need all my books. And Wash said that that was okay and he could help, and it was kiiiinda not the best thing to say because I was—”

“God, Caboose, I hate to interrupt, but you gotta slow down. ADHD brain is making it hard to understand you.” Tucker pats the bed next to him. “Come sit with me.”

Caboose hesitates, stopping in his pacing and glancing at Tucker, before he moves to sit on his bed. He leans against the wall beside Tucker, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. “I was… I was, um, really scared when you didn't leave your room.”

Tucker is so riddled with emotion from the simple statement alone that he has to look away from Caboose, averting his eyes to his lap. “I… I'm really sorry, man. I know I shouldn't have just pushed you guys away like that, especially you. I just didn't wanna make you guys deal with my bullshit.”

“It— it's not bullshit!” Caboose looks over, eyes wide with shock and brows furrowed in confusion. Tucker knows that Caboose curses, but he doesn't remember the last time he heard it happen. “Tu— Tucker, you're one of my best friends, like— like… uh. I know you thought I hated you for forever but I never did and I've trusted you since we met and—”

“Hey.” Tucker reaches over, taking hold of Caboose's hand in an attempt to comfort the other. Caboose— unexpectedly— returns the gesture, letting Tucker intertwine their fingers.

Caboose exhales. “I— I'm just trying to say that you... you are very important to me. I don't know what I would do if— if something happened to you and I could not do anything to help.”

A pregnant pause follows, in which Tucker takes a second to process the words. “That's— that's mutual, Caboose. You mean a fuckton to me, too. Thanks for being here through all of this, even when I'm being a closed off asshole.”

“Mmhm.” Caboose squeezes Tucker's hand gently, then sighs. “It's really late.”

Tucker can't help but laugh. “Yeah. I know I've been sleeping all day, but I'd love to go back to bed. You need to get some rest, too, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Caboose agrees. Neither of them, however, make any move to disturb their position— Tucker doesn't move to leave, Caboose doesn't move to see him out. After a pause, Caboose asks, “Sleep here tonight?”

“If you want me to,” Tucker answers, as though he wasn't hoping Caboose would ask that. Caboose nods and smiles softly, shifting so they can lie down.

Something about being with Caboose always feels so... right. Like everything can be okay for a second and Tucker doesn't have to hate himself, like he's not responsible for anything but enjoying his time with Caboose. Tucker realizes that, embarrassingly enough, it's easier to sleep next to Caboose than it is to be alone.

It's easier to do _anything_ with Caboose, really.

It isn't until Caboose is shoving his blanket towards Tucker that Tucker remembers that Caboose has been off the entire time Tucker's been here. Tucker curses himself for forgetting and turns to the younger. “Hey, Caboose, one sec— are _you_ okay? Do you want to talk about stuff before we sleep?”

Caboose stiffens, then shakes his head insistently. “I— I'm okay. I think I am just tired. We can talk later if you really want to. But I think we should sleep right now?”

“Later sounds good,” Tucker nods. He feels like he's dozing off already, anyway, and if Caboose needs a listening ear Tucker would prefer not to be falling asleep in the middle of him talking. “Sleep sounds good, too. C'mon.”

Caboose pulls up the blanket to slide into the bed next to Tucker, adjusting his pillow a few times before lying down. He looks at Tucker beside him for a second, then rolls over to face the wall. “G'night, Tucker.”

Tucker stares at the back of Caboose's head before turning over himself so they're back to back. “Night, dude.”

Tucker thinks that if there's anywhere in the universe where he belongs, it's here, in this bed, with someone who means the world to him.

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on tumblr i like talking about rarepairs @nrhq
> 
> church uses they/them prns here. carolina used he/him pronouns in my draft of this fic but for clarity's sake i changed them back to she/her pronouns. tucker has bpd and adhd, caboose is autistic, donut has tourettes, grif has ocd, etc etc etc


End file.
